Aloha, page 10
“I love you.”
Thank you for reading! Mason and Laurel have more stories from the past and into the future. Start at the beginning with the first trilogy, Web of Sin, book one, Secrets.
Riptide
Alessandra Torre
Chapter 1
"Hawaii. September 12th. Come with me."
The note was tucked in three dozen red roses that were delivered to the bookstore by one of the Venice Beach potheads who couriered from the bougie Marina Del Rey florist. "Lucky girl," he drawled, setting it on the bookstore's counter with a loud crack. "This thing was crazy expensive."
I plucked the card from the bouquet and reread the message, then flipped it over to see if there was anything more. Tucking the card into my back pocket, I smiled at him. "Thanks. They're beautiful."
They were. The roses were red long-stems with bright pink orchids spilling from the dark green foliage. I lowered my face to the blooms and inhaled their delicate scent.
There wasn't a signature on the card but I knew exactly who they were from. Stewart Brant had a distinct style in everything he did. Always the best, the most expensive, the highest quality. Delivered by a service, not by hand. Even the card was handled by someone other than him. I wasn't even sure what his handwriting looked like, but that perfect calligraphy wasn't it.
A trip to Hawaii. Smiling, I moved the vase to the side of the counter, out of the way, and then picked up the plastic yellow handle of our store phone. I pressed in the number, then waited, curling the long cord around my finger as I watched a girl in a polka-dotted bikini examine our table of dark romances.
The bookstore was smack in the middle of Venice Beach and was half store, half bar, which meant that the place was busiest at happy hour. So far, I hadn't sold a single book, and it had been... I glanced at my watch. Three hours. Other than reading twelve chapters in a Dean Koontz novel, this delivery was the only noteworthy thing that had happened during this shift.
"Hey, Madison." Stewart's assistant answered the phone in her efficient New York accent. "Let me guess, you just got a delivery."
"I did, and they're beautiful. " I paused. "I'm sure you're the one to thank for that."
"Oh, they were his idea. I just implemented it." She laughed. "And I might have reminded him that it's your anniversary. He's taken off for the evening. After 5:45, he's all yours."
"Awesome. Well, thank you for your help with that. There was a note..." I pulled it out of my pocket and studied it.
"Yeah, he wants to take you to O'ahu in two weeks. He has a few meetings with the investors on the hotel deal and will be staying two nights. I booked the jet and hotel, so you just need your suitcase."
I looked out the front doors of the store, to the water, where a group of surfers stood by the surf, their brightly-colored boards shining in the sun. "Two nights?" I asked, thinking over who could cover my shifts.
"Yep." She laughed. "Hey, if you don't want to go, I can. Or maybe--"
"No, I can go," I said, but inside, I was thinking of the reasons I shouldn't.
And then, as if on cue, the number one reason walked through the open doors.
Paul.
He took me in the storeroom, my jean shorts and underwear down around my ankles, my tank top pulled over the tops of my breasts. I bent forward, and the line of book spines scraped against my nipples as I gripped the shelf. His fingers dug into my waist as he pressed his mouth against my neck, his breath hot in my hair, his cock hard between my legs.
When I came, I moaned, and he covered my mouth with his hand, his skin salty. I bit it, holding it gently with my teeth, and thought briefly of the locked storeroom door, the sound of the bar's band easily passing through the thin divider.
It was hot and hard and quick, and he grunted softly when he finished inside of me, his strokes slowing, then shuddering to a stop. I released his hand and sagged against the shelves, my limbs limp.
He turned me to face him, holding me up as he pressed his mouth to mine, then kissed my neck, my collar, then my lips again. "I love you," he said gruffly.
"I love you too." I smiled, meeting his eyes. Damn, the boy was pretty. Vivid blue eyes, tan skin, nose slightly burnt, his blonde hair rough from the water and the wind. He looked like a model, a perfect specimen of masculinity and beauty, and all one hundred percent mine.
I broke our eye contact and looked down at my feet, then went to pull up my shorts.
"Stop." He did the job for me, his fingers tender as he drew the bright orange thong and my baggy jean shorts up my legs, then over my hips.
I heard the ding of the register bell and swore. "I got to go."
He grabbed my hand just as I unlocked the door and pulled me back to him. "Wait."
I resisted. "I can't... I gotta go."
"The roses, those from him?"
"Yep." I twisted the knob and pulled the door open. "It's our anniversary." Another man would be jealous, but it's Paul, and he's always been impossibly understanding about how our relationship works.
"Ah, that's right. Which is why I'm doing tacos and Forensic Files by myself tonight." He grinned. "I'll save some of my queso dip for you."
"You better." My stomach complained at the thought of missing Paul's seven-layer cheese dip. I rose on my toes and gave him another kiss. From the register, another insistent ding of the bell sounded, and I looked around him to see the bikini girl standing there, two books in hand. "I have to go."
He snuck around the Science Fiction section and out the front, and I realized I should have mentioned Hawaii to him before my date with Stewart.
The thought nagged at me, and I texted him as I was getting ready for dinner.
Forgot to tell you... I'm going to go to Hawaii with him in mid-September for two days. Just wanted to give you a heads up.
I sent the text and then opened my closet in Stewart's condo. As a woman in two relationships, I also had two closets. They were laughably different. In my house with Paul, I had an overflowing coat closet filled with colorful tank tops, sundresses, wet suits, bikinis, and cutoff shorts.
Here, I had my own walk-in, with Lululemon matching workout sets, conservative suits, expensive cocktail dresses, loungewear, blouses, cashmere sweaters, and slacks. I picked out a black sweater dress and sparkly stilettos. Laying them out on the fluffy white bed, I stripped out of the outfit I'd worn to work and dropped them into the hamper. By the time I got up in the morning, Stewart's maid would have already washed and folded them, the clothes ready for me to wear home.
I didn't have to keep my outfits separate. I could wear any of these things back home, but it never felt right, walking into my home with Paul, wearing a pair of pressed capris and a cardigan.
His response came while I was in Stewart's giant steam shower. I didn't see it until I was wrapped in a big fluffy robe and adding conditioning oil to the ends of my long hair.
Which island? The O'ahu competition is the week of the 11th. It's not too late for me to get into the tourney, if you want me to. We could get dinner one of the nights... I could take you to Sans Souci beach to see the turtles.
I read it once, then set down my brush and read it again. My heart skipped, then tripped, and I couldn't decide if I was elated or horrified at the suggestion.
My world, our dual relationships... they worked because I was diligent about keeping a clean line of division. Stewart knew nothing about Paul, not even his name, and vice versa. I didn't lie to them, but I respected that there were certain things they didn't need to or want to hear. Both men knew that I had another partner. Both were okay with it. It was Stewart, originally, who suggested it. When I met Paul, I told him about Stewart and gave him the option of accepting the arrangement or walking away. He accepted it, and a year and a half later, here we were.
I loved both of them. I was committed to both of them. I couldn't choose between them, and they would never ask me to. The choice would rip me in two.
Going to Hawaii and having both of them there... it felt like playing too close to the fire.
Then again, how was it any different than dating them both here in L.A.?
I sent him a text before I second-guessed myself.
Sure. I'm not sure how much I'll be able to see you, but would love to try to go to Sans Souci.
Halfway through our anniversary dinner, I decided not to tell Stewart about Paul's offer to come to Hawaii.
In our years together, it was the first time I lied to him by omission. I don't know why I didn't tell him except that I realized, right around the time he cut into his steak, that it was a shitty thing to do - me sharing that vacation with another man.
It didn't matter that Stewart encouraged and allowed my relationship with Paul. It didn't matter that he would be in meetings most of the time.
This was a trip he had invited me on.
A chance for the two of us to go away together... and it was horrible of me to share that experience with Paul.
Right then, I should have excused myself from the table and texted Paul to tell him he shouldn't go. But I didn't. I enjoyed our dinner. I focused on Stewart. I savored the rare opportunity to enjoy his company, and by the time I looked at my phone, late that night, the text from Paul was already four hours old.
Flights booked and I'm confirmed in the tournament. Oneill is paying my way.
Shit. I looked over at Stewart, who was beside me in bed, his glasses on, his computer on his lap, his fingers nonstop on the keys.
I should have told him then, but I didn't. I didn't, and my lie of omission grew bigger.
Chapter 2
I stepped off Stewart's jet and into the balmy Hawaiian air. Squinting against the sun, I pulled my sunglasses off the top of my head and pushed them onto my face, laughing a little when my hair blew into my mouth.
"Here." Stewart offered his hand, helping me down the steps and onto the pavement. Moving to my left, he blocked the wind with his body. "Better?"
"Much." I grinned at him. "I need to cut my hair short like yours."
"Don't even think about it," he warned, grabbing the back of my neck and squeezing it gently.
Stewart had rented a Mercedes convertible, and he pressed the button to lower the top, then looped his fingers through mine. I played with the radio until I found a reggae station, then relaxed against the seat and closed my eyes. He accelerated out of the airport lot, and I stretched out my legs, appreciating the sun's warm kiss on my face.
"The air smells different here," I called out to Stewart. "Sweeter."
He laughed. "Oh really, sweeter than Venice Beach?" He shook his head, and I smacked his arm, warning him to keep his thoughts to himself. Stewart hated where I lived with Paul. That was one thing I didn't have to worry about - us bumping into him in that part of town. Stewart stayed downtown, and rarely left the confines of the two-mile loop between his high-rise condo and his office.
Stewart had tried multiple times to buy me a place near him, but I had staunchly refused. Venice Beach may have its seedy elements, but I loved the community and atmosphere there. It was all artists, hippies, and surfers - a creative melting pot that took care of its own and shunned the corporate robots and Beverly Hills brats. Stewart was the epitome of the corporate robot, but maybe that's why I loved him so much. Maybe I needed the stark differences - the additional textures that brought to my life.
And I had to admit, they were nice textures. As we checked into the Ritz Carlton, I inhaled the rich scent of coconut and hibiscus and took the steaming towel the attendant offered, cleaning my hands before accepting a chilled glass of champagne.
We rode up the elevator with a tuxedoed butler. I smiled at the man, then poked Stewart in the side. "Did you know that Hawaii has an ordinance against loud laughter?"
He looked up from his phone long enough to frown down at me. "What?"
"I'm serious. You aren't allowed to laugh loudly."
He was shaking his head, about to argue, and I spoke quickly before he did. "They only allow a low ha."
"I don't--"
"A-low-ha." I grinned at him. "Get it? Aloha."
He shook his head in exasperation, but I could see the twitch of his lips.
"You should tell that joke in your meeting with the investor," I suggested.
"I will most certainly not tell that joke to anyone," he responded, wrapping his hand around my waist and pulling it tightly against him.
The elevator car settled, and the doors opened with a quiet chime.
The massive suite had a living room, a giant tub, and a wall of windows that showcased the million-dollar view. I slid open the doors to the balcony as stewards hung up our clothes and turned down the bed.
I'd be lying if I didn't admit I loved the lifestyle Stewart's wealth afforded. I loved it, and I loved him - the brilliant and thoughtful man in the suit with an OCD-level attention to detail and a rigid work ethic.
Love had never been the issue... I just needed more than Stewart was able to give. I needed lazy Saturday mornings in bed. I needed birthday presents that weren't picked, purchased, and delivered by assistants. I needed takeout, trashy television, and dates that didn't have to be booked three weeks in advance.
Everything I needed, Paul provided, and Stewart understood that.
The door closed behind the valets, and Stewart undid the top button of his shirt and looked at me with a dominant hunger. "Come here."
I came. In more ways than one.
First to him... dropping to my knees on the soft carpet. Undoing his zipper. Pulling out his cock. It was long and soft, and when I gripped it, it immediately responded. When I took it in my mouth, it stiffened to full attention.
Then, on my back where he focused his attention in between my open thighs, his firm mouth worshipping the delicate area before zeroing in on the one delicious rhythm that would take me exactly where I needed to go.
Then, on my knees, his pace furious, his fingers biting into my ass as he pumped in perfect staccato, everything in my body binding, exploding.
I was loud and he was loud, and we didn't care. Afterward, I spooned into his side with the doors open, my clothes somewhere on the floor, the salty breeze drifting over my naked skin.
"I have to go soon," he said, kissing the top of my head.
I closed my eyes, not ready for the moment to end. The waves were loud, seagulls crying, and the sounds were so familiar, so much like my Venice Beach apartment, that I got up abruptly, needing to close the doors and block it all out. It didn't feel right, especially given that Paul was somewhere out there, on this beach, on this island.
As soon as Stewart was dressed and on the way to his meetings, I showered and dressed, then went downstairs and out to the beach to find Paul.
Chapter 3
STEWART
Damn, I should do this more often. It's gorgeous here. The cliffs, the sand, the waves, the sun... It's everything Los Angeles wished it could be, minus the rat race of attention and wealth. I stood on the room's balcony and inhaled the breeze.
The memories came with it, and I stopped, compartmentalizing the memories and locking them away. Ah, that's right. This was why I didn't go to places with turquoise water and long stretches of sand. The serenity always brought with it the memories.
The night.
The blood.
The police.
The funeral.
Down at the beach, a crowd was on the far end where the waves were the biggest. Surfers dotted the waves, their bright boards like confetti on the dark blue water. There was a line of tents down there and some sort of a stage.
I hadn't ridden a board in almost twenty years. Maybe it was like riding a bike or maybe I'd fall flat on my face. It didn't matter. I didn't have time to try. Right now, I should be checking my email. Looking over the discussion points for this afternoon's meeting. Double-checking the figures and reevaluating the risks based on this morning's market updates.
"Wow, it's gorgeous." Madison joined me at the railing and turned her face into the sun. She closed her eyes, and a slight smile lifted her lips. With her long blond hair in messy waves across her shoulders, a sheer cover-up over her white bathing suit, she looked like an advertisement for effortless beauty. She looked like what I yearned for... peace. I should call China. Now, before their market closed for the day. If I could put pressure on Huang, there was at least a percentage point still built into the negotiations. That should be used for leverage.
"I'm starving." Madison squinted at me, shielding her face from the sun with her hand. "Do you have time to eat?"
I pulled back the sleeve of my linen button-up and checked the time. I had fifty minutes. Maybe an hour, if I could get ahold of China quickly, before we left.
"Yes, as long as it's someplace close." I nodded down to the beach toward the event. "Something's going down on the beach. Want to walk down there and see what's going on? Looks like they have some food trucks."
It was an unorthodox suggestion, at least for us. Madison and I eat at Michelin-star restaurants with a bevy of waiters standing by to assist, the atmospheres always a quiet hush of respectability and honor. I was confident she would jump on it with zeal. This was, after all, something in line with her other life - the one that seemed to be ruled by chaos and poor planning, her hand in his. She once called me from a rest stop in Kansas, where she was road-tripping to Florida to drop off a van. She went to Burning Man and came back hoarse and sunburnt. She lived a reckless and wild life with him, then came to me, where she recuperated with the help of my chef, the condo's spa, and my giant bed.
"Oh, I don't know." She made a face. "I thought we'd just grab something at the hotel restaurant."
So much for my attempt to walk on the wild side. I turned away from the view. "Sure. I've got to make a call, but I can do that on the way."
